Diary of Reema Night-Eye
by LadyDragon1316
Summary: These are the stories of Reema Night-Eye, Redguard Nightblade, formerly of Cyrodiil, currently in Skyrim. Her mission: start a new life. Food, shelter, coin. Figure out whose an ally and whose an enemy. Find a base of operations. Designate actual operations. All of which would be a lot easier if it weren't so damned cold!
1. Day 1: Arrival

**Given the horrible creative slump I've been sitting in, I'm trying something new. A Skyrim based free-write. I'm not planning this ahead, and I'm not using a beta. I am playing Skyrim and making things up as I go. That being said, let me introduce Reema Night-Eye.**

 **Day** **1** :

Land. Finally! As if it weren't bad enough I had to flee Anvil with just the clothes on my back, but then spending weeks in close quarters with a bunch of smelly, salt-crusted seamen?

Not that I'd take it back, even if I could. Brenan knew better than to betray me and he did it anyway. It was worth burning every bridge I had to open him up. My only regret is not making sure he fully regretted it. So I hope the Void takes him apart nice and slow in my stead.

That also means I won't be going back to Cyrodiil for a while. Or maybe ever. Not that there was much I had to leave, but still. A journal seemed appropriate, given I'm starting over.

And where am I starting over in?

Skyrim.

Dear Sithis, which Daedra did I offend to deserve this? The blasted _cold_!

Well, can't say it wasn't an auspicious start, anyway. At least given my record. The Dainty Sload (stupid name) docked in a cove miles away from the Solitude harbor. Seems like this crew's used it before and aren't looking to have their arrival documented.

And no sooner had we put down anchor, when Captain who-cares-what-his-name-is goes demanding more money from me before he'll let me off the ship. Do I look like I had anything else on me when I bought passage? Idiot didn't know who he was messing with. And frankly, it's better this way. No witnesses. Though, I can't say I didn't enjoy it. Especially that one who thought to make a grab for my ass early on.

I took what I needed from the ship. Never turn down a good resource. Food, coin, some easily pocketable valuables. Found what they were so keen on hiding from the locals: a mess of contraband, and skooma. Without a contact, I can't turn any of it around for coin. But I made sure to dump every last drop of that filth overboard. I'm not a complete scoundrel.

Once I had what I could carry, I put a hole in the bottom of the ship and got out. Whenever it's found, there'll be no trace back to me.

Now then, next order of business is to get the lay of the land and outfit myself. Solitude's a few miles away. I can just see the palace from here. Hopefully I don't meet any unfriendlies between along the way. I am not fit for open combat right now. My boots and gauntlets have been ruined by the seawater, this dress could stand on its own, and you couldn't pay me to wear anything on that ship. Do pirates take a vow of filth when they start breaking the law?

Whatever. I've got a few hours of walking to get to Solitude. More than enough time to come up with a story.

Provided I don't lose a toe between here and there. This blasted _cold_!

Well, there's no putting it off any more. Welcome to Skyrim. Here's to hoping it's not as bad as I've heard.


	2. Day 1: Evening

**Day 1: evening**

Alright, Solitude's impressive looking. I'll give it that. There's this huge stone…thing, that stretches over the river that leads into the harbor. And the city is built right on top it. Like 'no shits given' kind of built. Really impressive looking. Of course, then I immediately think about how they're one properly pissed off Prince away from dropping half the capital city into the water, but that's just me.

Made it to Solitude with no mishaps. Though it's a hell of an up-hill walk that last mile. And what is my first sight within the walls of the capital of Skyrim? An execution. Right there. A couple hundred people stuffed into this corner of the city, shouting their heads off in a blood-lust. Then, up at the front, axe, head, blood on the stonework.

Charming.

At least having so many people looking in that direction meant I could get into the city largely unnoticed. Found the local garment shop—a couple of shrewish Altmer sisters who almost chased me out of their precious shop until I flashed my coin pouch in their faces.

No, ladies, I'm not a beggar. I've just been wearing this same garment for several weeks, while at sea, amidst a bunch of sweaty brigands. And no, I don't like it either. Why do you think I'm here?!

Sithis help me…

On the up side, my odor offended them so much they actually provided me with a bucket of water and some soap. So I have some of my grunge off, at least.

I chose some shifts and pants, and a mourner robes from their less tasteful section. Fairly cheap, the dark color will serve me for the future, as will the sympathy. Who'd question the poor girl who lost her whole family in that awful ship-wreck? Now I just have to find the name of a ship carrying passengers that went down within walking distance and I'm golden.

I'll wait on the armor until I've got my feet under me. For now I'm seated in the Winking Skeever Inn with the first decent meal I've had in weeks. Of course the coin I spent on the meal is the coin I won't be spending on a room. I thought I spotted a flat stretch on the shore between the dock and the stables where I can lay my head.

And build a fire. Because those clothes I came in on deserve to be burned. With extreme prejudice. Never underestimate the therapeutic power of incineration.


	3. Week 1: Accounting

**Week 1: Getting the Lay of the Land  
**

The week's been full, but now's an appropriate time to take account.

The city's something I'm accustomed to. Not so many alleys or districts, but I've figured out ways to maneuver unseen at night. For future reference. If the other cities are like this one, I think I can get by. The Blue Palace is…nice, but I'm still avoiding spending much time near the Palace. I can't get that whole 'suspended over air and water' thing out of my head.

I've gotten some decent coin together by doing odd jobs and alchemy. If I'm not running deliveries for him or her, I'm out in the surrounding area collecting alchemical ingredients for potion making. The flora aren't what I'm used to, except for nirnroot (yeah, they've got those noisy little buggers up here, too). There's an alchemist here who buys them without complaint. Anything she won't goes to the local trader. Everyone assumes it's my trade.

Between all that, I have enough coin to both arm and armor myself. Sweet Sithis, I didn't even realize how naked I felt until I strapped on that dagger. Boots and greaves, too. Basic, but functional. The mourner robe stays. You wouldn't believe how easy it is to avoid questions once they see it. And I can stay at the Inn now, too.

It occurs to me that I could keep going like this. Get better acquainted with the local flora and fauna and set up as the alchemist's apprentice. Or take a normal job down on the docks. This place is busy enough. I could even take some charity from the Temple (which I've been avoiding for obvious reasons). And no one knows my reputation or history. If there was any place to turn over a new leaf, here and now would be it.

But I reject the idea even as it presents itself. Yeah, I could make a living and I might even be content with it. But I'm bored. Starving for my work. In the end, I'm Void-touched. And it's got nothing to do with my skin. The sooner I find somewhere to apply it, the better.

Speaking of which, I think I've found my in. There's an Argonian loitering around the merchant district. Goes by the name Jaree-Ra. Everyone pretty much knows he's a scum-bag of some sort. But he doesn't do anything in the open, so there's no call to arrest him. Not what I'd call a subtle operator, but he's all I've got.

Really. All I've got. There is no underworld here! Sure, I've found some symbols carved into the walls around particular shops and houses, there's a ship docked in the harbor that's probably pirates, and a few skuzzy folk scattered among the populous. But that's it. For all I've looked—and I know how to look—I've been unable to track down a single indicator of an organized criminal caste. No wonder this place felt so weird.

So Jaree-Ra is it. As a starting point, at least. I'll approach him at the next opportunity and feel him out. See if he's got something to offer. Then I'll go from there.

And, as an afterthought, IT'S TOO BLOODY COLD!


	4. Week 2: Middle

**Week 2: Middle  
**

I saw this coming. From a mile away, I saw this coming. And I warned him. Right then, right there. As clearly as I could without bringing up my history. Do. Not. Betray me. Damned scaly bastard wasn't even being subtle. Jumped on the first show of willingness. Promised easy coin, and a lot of it, for one little job.

Did he think he was being subtle? Did he think I'd fall for it? Do I have some sign over my head that says 'easy mark'?!

Maybe I did too good a job setting my persona. But really, anyone with any experience could tell I'm more than I paint myself. And I pressed for harder work. I told him I could do more. Asked to be on the crew taking the ship. Volunteered to be more involved. But nope. "Just put out the lighthouse fire. Then meet us at the ship. Then profit!" Who did he think he was kidding?

So now I'm sitting next to the body of his sister, boiling. This is the second ship of corpses in a month. But at least this time, only half of them are from me.

The last brigand gave me the location where Jaree-Ra and the rest of these Black Blood Marauders took the loot from the ship (which they cleaned out pretty well, if I'm honest. Not much left to scavenge).

I'm headed there next to deal with the slime-ball. I learned early on not to let anyone get away with shit when it came to me. Nobody stabs me in the back and gets away with it. _Nobody_.


	5. Day ?:

**?: Broken Ore Grotto**

This has been freakin' great. And I'm not just sayin' that becuse I'm drunk of my ass. But comeon. I found a whole crat of Alto in here. What else was I gonna do?!

Okay—but no…The best part was the part before. The start was gud but best was after a couple hours. When they knew there was somone in teh grotto. I swear they were pissing 'emselves. Even the bad parts wer great. Couple times they came so close. I knew, if they jst turned one little bit more or took another couple steps, the'd see me, and I'd have a dozn pirates on my me in seconds.

But aht was what's so great about it. You're so close to death, one way or another. And you know, one wrong step, and the death your bringing is comin for you. And that's okay, 'cuase you know. And one day it will. One day I'll dance close to death and it'll be mine.

But not todaaaaay!

Today death was mine to give, and I gave it gooooood.

And to Jaree-Ra expecially. And he really did piss himlself.

Now I feast! Plenty of food here, and I't'll just go to waiste. I gotta make up for all those weeks on shit rations. Haha! 'Ship' rations. Not 'shit'. But they were shit, true.

"Three beers down—and a bottle of rum!"

 _ECHOOOO!_


	6. Week 3: (Middle, I think)

**Week 3 (middle, I think?)**

Argh, my head. Back in Solitude and it's still pounding. Sithis take Sanguine for this. (And I'll just ignore that last bottle of Alto in my bag for a while.)

Upside: I've found a contract. Got chatting with the headsman up at Castle Dour. Turns out he's also the jailer. One of his inmates went missing a while back and he's been sitting on a pins hoping no one finds out. And, given the description, said prisoner was the captain of the band Jaree-Ra was heading, and is currently molding away in the scaffolding of a half submerged ship in the cave.

Not that I told the jailer that. I'll save that news for when I bring back the pirate's hand. It had some unique tattoos on it. Should serve as an appropriate identifier and get me the pouch of gold the jailer promised as payment.

On that note, I need to start making plans to move on. With this contract, there may be more scrutiny on the newly arrived alchemist and just how good she is with a knife. And I've dropped enough bodies around here lately that someone's bound to notice, even if they were the local scum.

I've heard there's a caravan that moves between the cities. Next time they show up, I'll ask if I can travel with them. Preferably south because, once again, it's too fuckin' COLD in this province.


	7. Week 4: Meeting the Caravan

**Some adjustment to the caravan routes to accommodate.  
**

 **Week 4: Beginning - Meeting the Caravan**

I met the Khajiit caravan today. They're made to camp outside the city gate because all these backwater Nords are afraid the sneaky cat-folk will rob them blind. I swear this province is a couple centuries behind the times. Maybe the cold's damaged their brains.

The caravan's headed by a Khajiit named Ma'dran. He knew what I was on sight, and so did the rest of them. It took some talking to convince them I wasn't planning to rob or kill or otherwise cause them deliberate misfortune. I also don't quite have coin enough with me to buy protection. In the end they agreed to let me travel with them with the understanding that I'll lend to the defense of the caravan on the road and the tending of camp when we stop. Certainly safer than going it alone. Who knows what sort unfriendlies are roaming the wilderness up here.

They're headed for Markarth to meet up with another caravan. From the description, 'The Rift' sounds like the Colovian Highlands in winter. I told them I'd travel anywhere with them as long as there was no snow. I'm pretty sure that's what sealed the deal.

They'll be here about week to trade with the locals, then we'll head out. And none too soon. That jailer must be talking, because I've noticed the attention on me shift. Word's getting around that the alchemist knows how to use her dagger for more than just plants. Too much longer and they'll want to know why.


	8. Week 5: Solitude to Markarth

**Week 5: Solitude to Markarth  
**

Took a good chunk out of my coin to outfit myself for travel. Proper leather armor that fits under my mourner robes (which are still serving their purpose). Pallet, tent and so forth for travel. The caravan's putting themselves together now. A might miss being ocean-side a bit. Most of the Cyrodiilic cities I've spent time in have a large body of water nearby. Now that I'm going inland, that'll change. But I'll gladly trade the ocean for warmer weather.

x

Most of the caravaners are still keeping me in the corner of their eye. Can't blame them. I'm an unknown quantity. But I did get into a discussion with Ma'jhad about dwarven locks. Some ancient, long-gone race of elves who were mechanical masterminds. Apparently they made their locks with rotating bits instead of tumblers. I'll have to fine one of their ruins and check it out at some point. By the time we got to debating the best alloys for lockpicks I think the others had relaxed.

x

Well, Skyrim has failed to grow on me. We passed through a town called Dragon Bridge, aptly named for the large stone bridge it's built next to. The bridge is as old as the dirt we're walking on. Which pretty much sums up the province so far: everything impressive about it was done generations ago. Now it's just tired.

x

We passed a cart today. A couple merchants transporting a military shipment. Both were dead, and so was their horse. The caravan skirted the scene and picked up their pace, but I took a couple minutes to investigate since it looked old.

At first I thought it was a sloppy bandit job, but the cart was largely untouched. The dirt around was all muddled. Too much activity to figure out how many or exactly what happened. The only clue was a smattering of arrows left behind. Took a couple with me and caught the caravan up.

Looking at it now in the evening, it's not like any arrowhead I've ever seen. It look like it's made from some sort of shell. Like a mudcrab but shiny, and it's the wrong color. Whatever made it, the Ma'dran kept us going well into the night. That stretch of road is known for folk disappearing. I'll trust their judgement and keep it in mind if I come back this way. There's no faking a Khajiit on edge. Just what in the Void is out here?

x

Into the canyons now. Okay, not the Colovian Highlands. Climate, sort of. Topography, definitely not. Canyons and crags. It's warmer than Solitude, but there's this constant moisture in the air. The mist in the morning is so thick you can't see all the way across camp. I wake up damp and the campfire is a bitch to get going if we want breakfast warm. Maybe I won't be staying in the Reach after all.

x

Stopped in a town called Karthwasten: silver mining town. Not much call for goods as there seems to be a bunch of sellswords keeping people out of the mines. I'm tempted to see if the head of the town would like some...'help' clearing them out. But wetting my blade will put scrutiny on both me-and the caravan by association. Since that's the reason I left Solitude, I'd rather not pick up the same issue so early after moving to a new region. They've got this 'each Hold to itself' setup in Skyrim that I can take advantage of if I'm careful.


	9. Week 6: Day 1: Bearings in Markarth

**Week 6: Day 1 - Lay of the Land in Markarth**

Is it me? It's gotta be me. I don't see any other explanation for the fact that this is the second of two cities where I have walked in the front gate and watched someone get offed in the first ten minutes! In Solitude, it was a public execution. Then in Markarth, someone gets knifed to death not ten feet away from me while I'm still trying to figure out how high the city goes! How in the Void am I two for two on bloody introductions to the Skyrim cities? If I see a bloodletting in the next city I enter, I'm making for Hammerfell. Because this is ridiculous.

The guards were quick to sweep everything and everyone out of the way. Have the look of the Imperial guard when some family's 'mysteriously' disappeared overnight and they don't want folk asking questions. And wouldn't you know it, there's a Thalmor contingent staying up in their keep. Just like home. And just like home, I'll give the Thalmor a wide berth.

Then some Breton comes up and passes me a note that I 'dropped'. Well, subtler than Jaree Ra, that's for sure. Wants me to meet him at the Talos shrine tonight after dark.

But I've other reasons to smack him over the head. He just handed this off to a stranger? He doesn't know me. Doesn't know where my loyalties or interests lie. What if I were to hand this off the Thalmor up in the keep? Sell him off as a Talos worshiper for a bit of gold and a pat on the head?

I swear, the cold of Skyrim must have some kind of long lasting affects on the brain. Even here in the Reach where it's pretty moderate.

Whatever. I had time to check around the city. Place smells foul. There's a massive silver smelting operation on the south side and it sort of permeates the whole city. With the front gates closed, it keeps the smell closed up in the city and it gets everywhere.

The city is built into the mountain. Houses and streets chiseled out of the rock. Even the beds are made of stone. Nords might be a stubborn bunch. I wouldn't put it past them to chew a city out of rock just to say they had, but this isn't them. Locals confirmed that the city's Dwemer in make. 'Course, I say, "Dwemer? What kind of elf is that?" They say, "Dwarves," which doesn't remotely answer my question. Apparently there's a High elf in the keep who's researching it. A bit close to the Thalmor for be to go up on curiosity alone, but I'll think about it. Really depends on how long I choose to stay here.

The distribution of wealth seems to go with the smell from the smelters: rich folk up on the higher levels where the wind can keep the air clear, and the further down you go, the stronger the stink, the poorer the folk who breath it. There's a decrepit old passage even below the smelter where the truly destitute are shoveled, and I swear my eyes watered just walking by. I'm not so strapped for coin I'd ask for one of those rooms (if you could call them that). The inn's alright. Warm beds, cool wine, and the air's clear enough I can get to sleep.

I did step out briefly to meet with the Breton, more for self preservation than anything. If folk are getting knifed in the streets on a regular basis, I'd rather prepare myself. And, as I said before, the guards are the sort who will not be informative on the subject.

Breton's name is Eltrys, and he's not a Talos worshiper (though, really, why does an Empire declared city have a Talos shrine within the walls at all?). The killing was tied to the history of the region. I think I heard about the Markarth Incident back in Cyrodiil. Though at the time I figured it would never actually affect me. Cue requisite bite in the ass.

Anyway, some old Breton empire rose up during the Great War and managed to get control of the Reach before anyone knew what was happening. Bunch of Nords came to take it back with the promise they could worship Talos again if they did (here comes bite #2), ousted the Breton bunch, took back the Reach, and were promptly jumped on by the Thalmor and ousted themselves. The Empire is in control here (through a Nord Jarl, obviously), but that Breton empire is still rather rankled about the whole thing and continue to cause problems in the area.

Including (and here we come full circle) knifing people in the busy marketplace.

There's more to it, obviously. I mean, the guy from this morning clearly declared himself for the "Forsworn" (that Breton empire group), and the guards are adamant that there are no Forsworn in the city and they have everything under control while two people are dead and bleeding out in the street where everyone can see them...

Yeah, we're all terribly convinced. Bunch of ponces.

Eltrys's been investigating on account of the fact his father was a previous victim of the 'not- Forsworn', and he thought I was someone who could help him. And, given nice pouch of gold he's offering for whatever info I bring him, I might even do it.

But first thing's first, I need to get my bearings. Each Hold of Skyrim's pretty isolated, so chances are each does their own thing. Markarth has a different taste to it than Solitude, and I need to know how deep that goes before I start poking around after this kind of thing. I'd rather not be the next one getting a blade in the back, thank you.

Damn, these freakin' beds. No amount of fur changes the fact that I'm sleeping on stone! I'd bet my soul to the Aedra I wake up with back problems tomorrow.


End file.
